


slowly winding down for years

by Herwhereabouts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bukkake, Come Shot, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herwhereabouts/pseuds/Herwhereabouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carts and Richie have sort of been exclusive for a few weeks, and Richie thinks that there is something fundamentally flawed with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slowly winding down for years

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a part of a bigger fic, but I hit a wall with it. This bit stood out and got fleshed out. 
> 
> Totally finished it up just now, so if there are any glaring mistakes, please forgive me/let me know. 
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> (I think the title is from a Tori Amos song? I don't remember, dudes.)

 

It's a thing. 

Mike hasn't really identified what kind of a thing it is yet, but he knows that he's probably making something simple and easy morph into a thing, a _problem_. The night before their first playoff game against the Canucks, Jeff corners him in the bathroom and blows Mike's brains out through his dick. Jeff is fucking begging for it, gagging on Mike's cock, and Mike just clings to his huge shoulders and lets him. He doesn't say no. He's not strong enough to say no.

The issue is that they have kind of exclusively been fucking around with each other for weeks. Ever since Jeff got traded to the Kings. There's only been one girl since then (Mike doesn't even think about that night because the embarrassment is still fresh, fuck), and that's not how they do things. One of them is bound to get the wrong idea about this, and Mike can't be the one. Mike won't do that. He won't take them there accidentally. 

So when they wake up in the morning and Jeff sleepily crowds behind him in the bathroom as Mike is brushing his teeth, Mike's grip on his toothbrush simply tightens until the movements become jerky. He spits out and rinses his mouth ten seconds later, as Jeff runs warm, heavy hands down his chest, his forehead bumping the back of Mike's head off and on like he's dozing where he stands.

Mike drops his toothbrush in the cup and brings his hands down to push Jeff's off, shake himself loose. He grabs a fresh t-shirt and quickly puts it on. He accidentally sends a couple of water bottles flying as his arm shoots through one of the holes in his shirt and has to bend down and pick them up. As he straightens up, he comes face to face with Jeff, standing in front of him, hands on his hips. Jeff is in his boxers. It's almost funny (his hair is mess), how pissy he looks. Mike asks, “What?” with frustration and agitation making him bite it out more than he wants to. 

Jeff bites his bottom lip and looks weary, all of a sudden. “What's up?” 

Mike shakes his head and forces out a chuckle. “Nothing. Why?” Mike hangs one of his suit jackets and turns around, trying to look busy. Hoping Jeff gets off his back and gets it. 

Jeff snorts and plops down on his bed. “Nothing. It's just it's – this is same old, same old.” 

Mike spins around and snaps, “What the fuck are you talking about? Care to share with the rest of the class, Carts?” Jeff just loudly scoffs and his lips curl up in anger as he stomps to the bathroom and slams the door.

Mike drops the hanger in his hands and rests his forehead against the wall. It's a puke-green sea foam color. All Mike can do is breathe steadily and force himself to calm down. 

They don't talk as they make their way down for practice, not even in the locker room, and more than once throughout the rest of the day, whenever Mike hovers around Jeff (even accidentally), Jeff clams up and stops talking with the guys. He smiles politely at Drew, at Mitchie, and moves away. Jeff is so fucking obvious, so full of feelings all the time. Instead of making Mike want to yell at him for sucking at hiding his emotions better, Mike only feels a little sick to his stomach. 

Mike pretends he doesn't get it, doesn't see it, but the apparent look of confusion from Mitchie has Mike quirking up into a smile he doesn't feel and trying to dispel his worry. It doesn't work too well, but he tries. 

On their way up to their hotel room after dinner, Jeff asks Mike to give him the hotel room keycard and Mike does. Jeff grabs a coat, puts the keycard in his wallet, and turns to leave. Mike stares at him and waits. 

When it looks like Jeff isn't going to have the decency to even tell Mike where the fuck he is heading off to, Mike steps in front of him and asks, as calmly as he can, "Hey, where are you going?"

Jeff sucks his upper lip into his mouth and looks sheepish. It's embarrassingly forced. Mike has known Jeff since forever, and Jeff still can't fake it for shit. "Uh, just going to hang out with the guys." He chuckles and glances at his phone. "Trying to bond with the boys during the playoffs, you know how it goes." Mike keeps his cool.

"So, you can't bond with the boys when I'm around? What is – did someone say something?" Jeff drops his bullshit act and frowns (winces, maybe), finally. He says, "No, it's nothing like that. It's not even about you."

Mike snorts and steps out of his way, bumps hard into Jeff as he goes to throw his cell phone and coat on the nearest bed. "Man, just go. It's not even fucking worth it," Mike says, and Jeff goes. 

Mike sits down on Jeff's bed and stares at the closed door. 

*

An hour or so later, a little after nine, Mike rolls out of bed to open the door, thinking it's one of the guys knocking. Jeff has his hands buried in his coat pockets and is smiling wryly down at the floor. Mike doesn't move, his arm blocking the way. 

“I thought you took the keycard,” he says softly, watching Jeff teeter back and forth on his feet.

Jeff chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “The guys messed with my wallet. Dewy took my cards.” He moves forward a step and with a hand on Mike's chest, shoves him into their room. “Dewy's a punk,” Jeff says around a reluctant smile and Mike rolls his eyes and goes to the bathroom, hearing the hotel door quietly click shut behind Jeff.

Mike had been very busy with blankly flipping through tv channels and slowly feeling his soul die, so he's actually glad that Jeff is back. Even though he'll never admit it. 

He spends a minute just looking down at the sink when he's done, telling himself he's ready. They're fine. He can do it. The moment he opens the bathroom door and catches sight of Jeff leaning against the wall with his arms lightly crossed over his chest, the sharp line of his jaw and his tired, hung head cast in flickering lights coming from the television... Mike freezes. Jeff looks up slowly and Mike drops his gaze, his hands twitching at his sides. 

Jeff reaches a steady arm out and snags his fingers in Mike's t-shirt. He tugs Mike toward him and Mike goes. Mike fucking goes. “I can't believe this,” Mike mutters to himself, trying to fight the incredulous, taunting smile that's trying to break all over his face, hating Jeff a little. A lot. 

“Don't you get it?” Mike sneers at Jeff, trying to pry his fingers free, and Jeff's forehead just bumps down on top of his head, nudging Mike. 

Jeff breathes out, “I haven't fucking gotten it for a decade, Mike. Fucking keep up,” and then drags Mike in for a reluctant kiss, his mouth shaped in a smile. He's the only person Mike knows that can take Mike's death-glare and not even give a fuck. 

Mike puts both hands on his chest and breaks the kiss long enough to glare up at him and say, “I hope you know what you're fucking doing,” and Jeff's smile turns realer, somehow, and he laughs. “Fat fucking chance,” Jeff replies, looking totally smug, the asshole, and Mike crushes their mouths together. Mike digs his fingers in Jeff's hips and thinks about wiping the smile from his face. Thinks about leaving Jeff cussing and breathless, and works his hand down to Jeff's zipper, tugging it down. 

Jeff pulls back from the kiss and one of his giant hands flies to Mike's downturned face, as Mike focuses on reaching inside his boxers and getting Jeff's dick out. Mike thinks it'll take five minutes for a handjob as he dryly pumps Jeff's dick a few times. He spits into his hand a couple of times and Jeff groans out a low, “Fuuuck,” his fingers catching in Mike's hair and tightening, his thumb pressing against Mike's upper jaw. Mike works his hand back around Jeff's cock and starts jerking him off tightly. Jeff likes it this side of brutal.

Warm gusts of breath hit his temple as Jeff folds in on himself a little and curves around Mike. Mike doesn't look up, he stares down at Jeff's dick, slicking up at the tip, and rubs at the underside on an upstroke. Jeff's lips catch his forehead and drop almost-kisses there, and he pants wordlessly. Mike swallows a little painfully when Jeff's fingers tug again, and he has to push Jeff back against the wall as he starts almost involuntarily thrusting up into Mike's fist, his breathing getting too loud. Everything is too loud, Mike thinks, as Jeff's hand shoots down to grab his wrist and make him stop. 

Mike doesn't remove his hand. He remains frozen until Jeff unwraps his hand from around his dick, unsuccessfully biting back a groan. Mike stares at Jeff's dick like it has all the answers in the world. 

When a thumb runs down the bridge of his nose and his face gets tilted back up, Mike feels like he's coming out of a trance. Jeff looks wrecked. His lips are a little red from where he probably bit them. His eyes wide and wild. “I want to come on your face,” he rushes out, his face grimacing a little, and the heat punches through Mike without warning, like a tsunami. Mike never stood a chance. 

Mike rubs a hand down his mouth and shakes himself internally, turns around. As soon as he sits on Jeff's bed, Jeff is right there in front of him. His dick hanging out of his pants like a dork. He's fucking ridiculous. Mike smiles a little and reaches for him, pulling him froward with a warm hand squeezing Jeff's ass, the other going around his dick again. 

Mikes says, “You're so fucking greedy for it,” and spits straight onto Jeff's dick and feels him shudder, his ass clenching. He starts jerking him off again, keeping it tight, rough, and fast. Jeff starts chanting his name a minute later, and Mike pulls him in to the tight, wet heat of his mouth and sucks him in.  

Jeff moans like he's dying, his hands flying to Mike's head. Mike slackens his jaw and lets Jeff fuck into his mouth a couple of times, until Jeff pushes him back, and loses it all over Mike's face. Warm come hits Mike on the cheekbone, on his chin, his lips, even his fucking hair, and all Mike can do is clutch at the bedsheets and breathe through it. Feeling shaky. Mike keeps his eyes closed and doesn't mean to, fuck, but he bites his bottom lip into his mouth and licks at the come there, tastes Jeff. His eyes fly open when Jeff collapses down on top of him and starts licking his own come from Mike's face. Jeff's tongue dragging up Mike's cheek, sucking a kiss on Mike's chin, come and all.

Mike's face twists in disgust but it's no use. Jeff is a fucking boulder. The second he realizes Jeff is tugging his sweats down his thighs he melts into the bed and throws his arm around Jeff's shoulders, urgently noses his cheek. He kisses away Jeff's surprise and moans into Jeff's mouth as Jeff gets him off. 

When Mike falls apart (throwing his head back and slightly arching against Jeff's weight), Jeff works him through it with his hand and brushes hard, biting kisses all along the underside of his jaw.

Mike dozes a little after the cleanup, dimly aware of Jeff wiping him up and pulling up his sweats. The wetness from a towel wakes him up a little and he grimaces, remembering the dried come in his hair and grabs the cloth from Jeff, tumbling out of bed and to the bathroom. Feeling boneless.

When he comes back out, Jeff is sitting cross-legged on his bed in his boxers and t-shirt, sending a text on his cell phone. He doesn't look up.

Mike thinks about ignoring him. Mike thinks about going back to pretending he is clueless. Mike thinks he is too old for all of this bullshit. 

On his way to his bed, Mike pauses in front of Jeff and Jeff kind of startles and looks up. His eyes wide. Mike bites back on a smile and leans down to drop a chaste, close-mouthed kiss on Jeff's mouth before moving to his own bed. 

He has to turn and face away from Jeff and ignore his chuckle, because it's going to be unbearable. 

Mike doesn't know how he is going to handle his smugness, but he grins into his pillow and figures he'll think about that later.

Jeff quietly mutters, “Softy,” and Mike doesn't flip him the bird. 

Even though he really, really wants to. 

 

~end~

 


End file.
